


Blue

by Snowy_Rain



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A sea donut if you would, Afterlife, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Crack Treated Seriously, Developing Friendship, Fear of Death, Gen, I'm Not Ashamed, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Memes, Panic Attacks, This was inspired by Minryll's art, Tom Riddle Has A Swim Tube, Why Did I Write This?, do not copy to another site, not very explicit panic attacks tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:15:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25202287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowy_Rain/pseuds/Snowy_Rain
Summary: Tom Riddle, former Dark Lord, Horcrux maker extraordinaire, opened his eyes to a blue,bluesky.
Relationships: Harry Potter & Tom Riddle
Comments: 14
Kudos: 64





	Blue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Minryll](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minryll/gifts).



> This is for Minryll!! I saw the art and this idea just came to me. (I'm sorry, I should have been preparing for my exam instead of writing this weird thing) (WHICH IS IN LIKE 3 DAYS????? ASDFGHJKHGFD-) (Yeah, I'm procrastinating because _panic-)_
> 
> I'm sorry but I have no idea how to do images here so, here is the note Minryll included with the pic:
> 
> _"a little doodle before i go to sleep: tom gets a tube because he has noodles for arms and can't swim, as he would sink from the weight of his sins. harry's a seagull"_
> 
> ...Yeah, I took a bit of a liberty with the image, but seriously- Tom in a tube was funny as heck

Tom Riddle, former Dark Lord, Horcrux maker extraordinaire, opened his eyes to a blue, _blue_ sky.

_I probably died,_ he knows, eyes wide open and still terrified. _I died, I died - I can't believe I'm dead now._

There are clouds above, whispy and soft, swimming in blue. All around him is the beat of his own heart and, oddly, tinkling bells.

It feels as if he is alone, forever.

"Tom," someone says, breaking the silence, and he flinches. "For Merlin's sake, up you get-"

He is handled by his underarms and made to sit, finally able to bear the strange opulence of this new plane. 

_It's blue,_ he thinks to himself, grave yet fragile. _I never thought it would be blue._

It's a vast, blue expanse; it's an ocean spanning horizons, yet shallow where he sits. He looks down, his hand meets a reflective glassy surface under a layer of clear water. It's almost like two mirrors facing each other, reflecting into infinity - the _color,_ its multiplied and _further multiplied._ Everywhere he looks, Tom sees the dome of heavens.

"Up you get," the one behind him repeats. His voice is gentle. Tom doesn't want to like it, but he feels as if he would break with the smallest touch. This is welcome.

He turns around, only to come face to face with…

"For _fuck's sake,"_ he whines. "You. Why is it always you?"

Harry Potter rolls his eyes. "Suck it up."

"This is terrible. I'm suing death."

"Up you get," Potter repeats, like an incessant audio recording on a spin. Tom is grabbed and - bewildered as he is - he lets it happen. The boy rights him up, patting his shirt and smoothing over the creases. 

They are on a shallow patch of- _ground,_ that's the best word he can find for it right now. It's a ground, if nothing else.

"I died," Tom blurts out, his breath leaving him. He feels a soothing breeze over his cheeks, through the tresses of his hair.

Potter smiles at him. "You don't say."

"Are you _mocking_ me?"

"Who wouldn't?" Potter purses his lips, then sighs. "But I shouldn't fight now. There are no wars in death."

"I'd welcome it."

"That's what makes this so sad," Potter says, but it only confuses him further. "Let's get you ready."

Tom tenses immediately, but before he can protest, Potter has taken hold of his shirt and pulled it off his torso, Tom's arms raising in compliance without his permission. He yelps and staggers back, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at the boy.

"Are you _thick?"_ Tom asks. "I'm not doing anything! And- _what are you even trying to do?"_

"If you hadn't noticed," Potter spells it out, as if Tom were a child, "we are in water. Do you want to stay in wet clothes?"

"I don't want to be _naked,_ that's for sure!"

Potter groans and plops himself down on the watery- _ground._ Tom really needs to ask what the material is.

"Well, there is also a spiritual aspect to this," Potter says. Tom sours his face. "I feel like you wouldn't care."

"I don't care."

_"Ah,_ as I thought."

They stand and sit respectively in silence, feeling the ocean breeze and an ethereal, sifting sunlight. Tom wonders how he can feel this when he isn't alive anymore, left without a body. He remembers those long, agonizing years in Albania, remembers the feeling of being lost in chaos and pulled in millions of directions. Before he had figured out how to focus, he had been through _torture._

Now, however, existence is easy, practically _nothing._ It's… _good_ to exist. To be without worries or worldly responsibilities.

"You have to shed your clothes first," Potter speaks in the silence. He is watching the water, drawing idle patterns on it, letting them dissolve in ripples. "It apparently symbolizes letting down your guard. You have to be your purest, rawest self before you can face what you've accumulated."

"What I've accumulated?" Tom repeats. A zap of fear. A slither of suspicion. He doesn't trust Harry Potter.

Potter exhales deeply. "Your actions in life. The lighter moments. The turbulent parts. The deep parts, where you had lost your essence and should have reorientated yourself - but you didn't."

"I don't _know_ what you're talking about," Tom tells him. He _doesn't._ Potter isn't making sense. _(Or is he.)_ "What are we preparing for?"

Potter smiles then, kind yet terrifying. "We're going for a swim."

***

"I hate this," Tom moans in distress, legs shaking as they flap under the water surface. "Please, can't I go back? I could stay there in the shallow water."

"No can do - everything must move forward."

"I could sit forever."

"You can't. Sooner or later, you would get bored of fear." Potter pauses. "Also, if you hadn't taken your clothes off before wading through the sea, you would have sunken."

"And you couldn't tell this to me _before?!"_

"I forgot," Potter defends. "I was a bit busy trying to prepare the support, if you hadn't noticed."

Tom whimpers. His swim ring is fat and smooth and warm under the sunlight, and he is clutching it like the mother he never had. Potter is behind him, helping him swim forward and not to the sides. The boy's hands are warm too, they are an unfortunate comfort amidst the slight coolness of the water, touching his waist and his spine firmly.

"So did you like the pattern, at least?" Potter asks.

It's snake-like. Tom _does_ like it. He had always liked snakes. "What do you think?"

"I thought so," Potter replies, his voice unfairly cheerful. Tom loathes him for feeling so happy when he is _suffering_ here. He doesn't want to swim in a fucking ocean of _death,_ under the danger of drowning and getting lost in void for eternity.

But there is nothing he can really do about it. Potter is helping him - for some unfathomable reason - and Tom is benefiting from it. The least he could do was show appropriate appreciation.

"We are in deep water," Tom speaks, feeling rather awkward. "What was that symbolism you were talking about?"

"Oh! That," Potter exclaims, getting even more cheerful. "See, that's the thing - we are swimming in your sins."

"My _what."_

"How far you have fallen translates to how deep the water is," is his answer, making Tom blanch in fear. "Worse, your sins have only doubled the more you grew! I've never swum in waters like this, so I'm excited."

"I'm not," Tom says weakly, feeling sick. "Can't we- Can't we pull over? Is there a sort of resting island? I can't do this. I'll _drown._ I'll die _again."_

"Don't be ridiculous, Tom. You can't drown in this water. The most that will happen is that you will be lost for a while, but I'll find you and then we'll get back on track."

_"Why?"_ he asks. "You don't have to do that, do you?"

Potter doesn't say anything for a moment, and Tom panics thinking he finally did it and offended him.

"Not really," Potter answers at last. His touch is still warm, still ever-present. If anything, it's even firmer. "But I'm here of my own volition. I want to help. Kick a bit harder, by the way. We are getting some undercurrents here."

Tom panics again, kicking faster than he probably should have. Is it just him or do his legs feel weaker, despite the harder work?

"It'll be okay, Tom," Potter tells him. He sounds confident in himself, in Tom, in the world. It makes him relax a bit and kick in even periods, regaining his pattern.

The swim ring is still warm under his arms. He moves them a bit, sighing at the cool plastic. 

Potter is awfully close, he notices despite himself. It flusters him.

***

It's nice to swim, once Tom figures out that the depths of the ocean aren't sucking him in on purpose. He still hugs the donut shaped tube of air like it's his wand, but he feels less insecure and more relieved about it. Potter decides to swim around him like a god-forsaken shark, but Tom can't blame him for his own slow pace.

_"Baby shark-_ _do do do do do,"_ Potter chants like a maniac, shooting him mischievous and childish looks. Tom sighs and asks himself where he went wrong and started _liking_ this idiot. _"Mommy shark-_ _do do do do do do-"_

"I changed my mind," Tom speaks up. "I'd rather drown."

"Aww."

***

Once the peaceful waters are passed, Tom finds himself under a grey storm.

"It's fine," Potter tells him, bolstering him from behind. His arms are strong and hot like cast iron compared to the cold of the sea, and Tom hugs the swim ring tighter. The waves hit his neck, splashing onto his face and making panic a part of his palate again - he's _tired_ of emotions, _when will it end_ \- "It's fine, Tom. I'm with you. Hold on to me. I'm here."

"Fuck off," Tom gasps right then, a wave crashing onto his face. It feels bizarrely reminiscent of a cooking pot punching him. He chokes and coughs out the salt water, the taste of algae heavy behind his tongue.

"I'm here," Potter repeats. He sounds desperate, the grip of his arms only strengthens. "It'll be fine. Hold on, Tom."

Tom's starting to hate him again. Oh, _how_ he wishes for some honest cursing right now - it would have reflected the situation perfectly.

As the waves rise above his chin level, Tom starts fearing for his _(nonexistent)_ life again and clings to the tube, hoping with all his heart that he doesn’t slip and let go, doesn’t sink into the unforgiving waters. Potter is behind him, locking Tom and his swim ring together with otherworldly strength. Tom would have inquired about it, but he is a bit busy with the murderous sea after his own life.

Fucking Potter and his _“it will be all over soon”_ s.

***

When he snaps awake, his veins freeze with terror, thinking he had let go after all - but he hadn’t. He is still in the middle of the swim ring, Potter’s arms under his armpits, and the sun shining radiant right in his face.

“Potter,” Tom calls. “Wake up.”

“I’m- I’m awake,” Potter bursts out, as if he had come into consciousness as suddenly as Tom. He feels the boy’s arms move under his, warmed with time and body heat, and after they move away, it leaves an odd, cold sensation behind. Tom moves a bit to get used to the feeling.

“We passed the ocean?” Potter asks. “I mean- _of course_ we did. I knew it all along.”

“Of course.”

“I know what I’m doing,” he continues. “I swear.”

“Without the shadow of a doubt.” Tom narrows his eyes at the horizon and the few cumulus clouds hanging overhead. “Have we arrived at our destination yet?”

“Oh!” Potter swims in front of him, water slipping over his shoulders like sentient, bulbous glass. Since the storm had passed, everything had regained its blue splendor, and Tom feels a bit awed by the color now. 

“I think we’re nearly there! See-” Potter points at a spot in the distance, where a white, brilliant blob rested. “That’s where we will go.”

“And-” What’s next? Would Tom die again? Would he slip into unconsciousness and simply never wake up? Eternal sleep or eternal _nonexistence?_ “I don’t want to leave.”

“You have to,” Potter tells him. His voice is pitying, but he reserves no truth from Tom - he likes that about the boy. “You’ll find a way. Death isn’t an ending.”

“How do you know?” Tom asks. He is scared. The glint of silver far ahead seems threatening now. “I don’t want this to end - I want to live _forever.”_

“I know.”

“I hate you,” Tom says, but he doesn’t mean. Potter does or doesn’t know it. “You never give me straight answers.”

“There are no straight answers, Tom,” Potter insists. “I swear it to you. If I knew exactly what’s coming, I would have told you already. Who knows, it might just be a shallow patch of water; ours to sit in for eternity.”

Tom sniffed, holding back his building tears. “That would be nice.”

“Sunshine. Gentle breeze. Cool waters. Wouldn’t that be all right?”

“It would.”

Harry holds out his hand. Tom doesn’t let go of the tube, but he reaches back to grip it. It’s warm, packed with calluses, and tight.

“Then let’s go.”

Tom swims to another beginning with him.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Epilogue:
> 
> Once that white spot is closer, Tom heaves a sudden breath of relief. It's not a portal or a vortex - it's a _beach._
> 
> He hears Harry gasp by his side, and Tom hastens his pace to indulge him. The sooner they reach the coast, the sooner they'll be free of the endless ocean.
> 
> After an hour of swimming, the beach is closer than ever. Tom feels his feet hit solid ground, bumpy with smooth pebbles, and he makes a sound of surprise. Harry hears him and shouts in excitement.
> 
> The water is at his ankles now.
> 
> The beach is made of pebbles too - uncomfortable to sit on, most likely, but better than having sand stick everywhere. Tom lets the swim tube drop down and faces Harry's elated expression.
> 
> He smiles.
> 
> (And the rest is history. Tom makes sunbathing a routine, and it's even better in death because he _hates_ sunburns, and there is no skin to fry here. Harry swims in the water as often as he can and Tom watches him from the sidelines. Sometimes he joins him, with his snake-like swim tube. It's fun. It's nice. As nice as Harry had implied before.
> 
> It's a happy place.)


End file.
